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fatdavid8

Cook Islands

Member Since 2004

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Wednesday Aug 04, 2004

Aug 4, 2004
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As a result of no one's reading this journal, I feel a certain freedom to do whatever I want with it, so, this week, rather than write about my less than interesting life, I've decided to turn things over for an entry or two to one of the fellows that I know, Erac Saz, an MFA (Creative Writing) dropout and generally bitter guy who'd mentioned to me last week that he'd been working on a poem (despite his decision 8 or 9 years ago to never write again) that he thought would suit "the venue", as he rather smirkingly called it.

Afterwards, for perhaps the next entry or two, Erac and I may have a sort of Q&A session about the poem, so that he can, as he says, "pretend he's a writer".

So, without further ado, here's Erac's meditation, "The Man from Nantucket":

__________________________
THE MAN FROM NANTUCKET

There once was a man from Nantucket
whose dick was so long he ... well,
he really felt cheated
that he didn't have
just a ton of women
lining up and begging to fuck him.

Everything he'd ever heard or read, of course,
led him to believe that size really did matter,
especially all of those jokes
about how size doesn't matter,
and he felt that, if it were widely known how long his dick was,
he'd be fucking women left and right.

But no one did know
because no one
had ever slept with him.

It was all so frustrating!
Sometimes, he thought about
maybe fucking one or two ugly or fat girls,
just so they could tell
their good-looking friends
about his incredibly long dick;

but he instinctively knew that good-looking women
look for men with good-looking women,
and he feared that this stratagem,
rather than serving as his gateway
to the Elysian Fields of fine snatch,
would leave him doomed
to a lifetime of riding hogs
and screwing pooches.

One night, at a party of sorts,
he was talking with his friend Phil
(they weren't really friends,
but they both really, really liked Japanese anime
and so usually found themselves talking to one another at parties)
and, after several cans of beer,
he told Phil of his troubles.

"No, no!" exclaimed Phil, as he jammed his own beer
into his slightly humid, slightly tumid crotch.
"Chicks don't like long dicks!
Long dicks're always bangin' 'em in the cervix.
No, no: diameter's more important than length."
Phil then paused for a moment
to regard his dampened groin
and to gather up
the tangled threads of his thoughts.

"You know," he continued, nodding unsteadily,
and with an uncertain and unfocused malice,
"three-times average in diameter's
better than three-times in length.
Chicks don't want dicks like broom handles.
Chicks love short, stubby dicks,
like beer cans."

The two then turned to survey the party,
such as it was:
a handful of couples
and a surplus of unattached guys -- Christ!
what a fucking sausage fest!

Realizing that their evening's dating strategies
were once again certain to fail,
they thought wistfully,
with yearning and regret,
of their long drives home,
of their collections of imported Hentai videos,
and of the semen encrusted gym socks that awaited them,
that were the sum of their knowledge of love.

__________________________


Well, I certainly hope that the none of you who've been reading this journal enjoyed that as much as I did, and I'm certainly looking forward to interviewing Erac in future entries. I'm sure the interviews'll be much more entertaining and informative than the usual run of entries (see, for example, the entry for July 23, 2004).

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